


Thimble

by orphan_account



Series: Spiders In My Tea [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Biting, Blood and Injury, Campania Arc, Demon Sex, Demons, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Oneshot, Other, Smut, Starvation, kind of, soul eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 19:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sebastian is exhausted after the events on theCampania. Claude brings him a helpful pick-me-up.





	Thimble

**Author's Note:**

> This turned into a franken-fic of angst, smut, hurt/comfort, and mild humor. It was supposed to be a mostly non-sexual Sebastian and Claude character study but then the smut just... happened. Oops? (and there will be a standalone sequel if anyone's curious)
> 
> I know Claude and the Campania arc exist in two different canon verses but I’m mixing ‘em together anyway. If it helps, I guess one could imagine the events on the Campania happening after Claude dies in season 2? This is mostly manga compliant though, so Ciel isn’t a demon. I just borrowed Claude! (my headcanon explanation: when demons typically ‘die’ it’s like a “you must wait 5 minutes to respawn” thing but five minutes is actually five months/years/centuries/etc depending on how badly they got rekt and how well-fed they were. So that’s why Claude is alive and kicking.)
> 
> **tl;dr:** Enjoy!  <3

His young master had fallen asleep during the carriage ride, soaked to the bone and frozen beyond shivering. He had latched onto his butler and refused to let go, numb fingers clutching tightly to Sebastian’s mangled uniform. The dim moonlight filtered through the carriage curtains and glinted across a long chain of funeral lockets, wrapped securely around the child’s wrist after having taken an accidental tumble into the ocean. Twice. Ciel had stubbornly argued that the second occurrence did not count because Sebastian had caught the lockets before they could touch the water—Sebastian was content to privately disagree.

It only took a flash of Ciel’s ring to persuade the carriage driver—woken in the dead of night by Sebastian’s fist on his door—to bring them to the manor at such a late hour, a shudder for a worn wool coat to find its way around the young boy’s shoulders, and a narrowing of red eyes to silence any questions. The man would learn what had happened over the Sunday papers, and perhaps he would remember them and wonder.

They returned to a near-empty manor; the servants, with the exception of a deeply slumbering Mister Tanaka, appeared to have vanished. Sebastian had been quite annoyed to discover their absence, but reluctantly admitted it was probably for the best. Their smothering tears and ceaseless fussing would likely have finished the job that the Undertaker had set out to do, and Sebastian didn’t think he could bear that shame.

Although another set of hands to help would have been much appreciated, given the circumstances. Ciel could hardly stay awake to finish his bath. The frigid ocean had sapped his strength and left him so exhausted he never noticed the way his butler stumbled as he carried the boy from room to room like a doll, bathing, dressing, and tucking him into bed with uncharacteristic silence.

A pan of coals warmed Ciel from beneath the mattress and a fire roared in the hearth to chase away the chill. Fast asleep, he could not feel the way the demon’s hand shook as the contract brand burned against his forehead. The child would suffer a fever at the very least, despite Sebastian’s best efforts, and experience told him that a fever would only be the beginning.

Prying the funeral lockets from his master’s fingers, Sebastian set the chain on the night stand and extinguished the lights. The darkness sheltered him as he limped to the servants’ quarters with one hand braced against the wall should the world decided to turn upside-down. The Undertaker’s Death Scythe had left him gutted—raw and aching and _starving_. Ciel’s soul crooned sweetly to him across the house as his black nails created long, hungry slashes in the wallpaper.

He would replace it in the morning.

The window in the butler’s room was open a crack when he entered, the cold breeze running through his hair and down his neck like a caress before he pulled it shut. The sickly smell of rotting viscera and other vile fluids clung to what remained of Sebastian’s bloodstained clothing like tar. The fabric stuck to his skin and resisted his half-hearted attempts at removal, weighing him down in his slow journey across the hard floor—he was more than half-tempted to collapse where he stood and been done with it, but the remaining shreds of his dignity forced his legs forward. In one corner of the ceiling a small spider worked diligently on its web, paying him little mind as he collapsed onto the bed with one arm draped over his eyes, his uneven breaths visibly lingering in the cold air.

The greatest wound he’d taken that night had been to his pride, but his physical grievances were considerable. Nothing less than an immediate danger to Ciel would get him to move again in the next few hours. The agony made him wonder if he would be able to, even then. He was so _hungry._

“I find myself envious of the creature who caused you this much trouble, Michaelis.”

Sebastian’s arm shifted a fraction—just enough to expose one burning, furious eye, locked on the harmless spider in the corner. It took him a shamefully long moment to find the strength necessary for speaking, and then he decided the effort wasn’t worth the wasted energy. His glare said more than enough.

“A great deal of trouble indeed.” Faustus did not move, the act of spinning his unnaturally perfect web abandoned. “No greeting for an old enemy? Tut, tut.”

His many eyes pierced a perfect path towards Ciel’s bedroom and his pincers rustled together.

“Such a delicacy... I cannot fathom possessing your self-control.”

His words punctuated the ache of starvation Sebastian tried to ignore. Across the manor Ciel coughed wretchedly into his pillow and their mouths watered.

“But I will not dispute your claim again,” he said, after Sebastian tensed. “I’m not here for him... tempting though it may be. You can’t even stand, can you?” The spider chuckled and dropped from the ceiling.

Faustus had been waiting for Sebastian, that much was clear. Did he wish to exact revenge for his death? Sebastian did not believe for one second that this was a purely social visit, and the timing was extremely unfortunate. Slowly, painfully, he attempted to prop himself up on his elbows, mindful of the burning wound, and nearly succeeded in the time it took for the tiny spider to climb up the bedspread.

“Mortal bodies are such a hindrance,” Faustus hissed softly, “but you can’t risk letting go. Not to heal...” he chuckled, “and certainly not to fight me. You have denied yourself sustenance and pressed your self-imposed limits for so long that your flesh—and pride, I suppose—is the only chain keeping your teeth from that child’s throat. You cling to this skin out of necessity. Am I right?”

Sebastian had long since mastered the art of self-discipline, but that writhing, ravenous piece of him—locked tightly away the moment Ciel Phantomhive had agreed to their contract—craved the attention Faustus granted it after being shunned for so long. He attempted to squash the pest with the heel of his shoe but found his leg wholly uncooperative. The spider pressed on viciously.

“Your principles are a danger to both yourself and your charge. If your opponent were to return you would stand little chance in this state.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Come now, it’s obvious the reaper—more than one, perhaps?—is still alive. You would not be nearly this upset with yourself if you had killed them.”

His uncanny perception was _infuriating_. Sebastian desired little more in that moment than the strength to turn Faustus into a tiny smear on the nearest wall.

“It is fortunate for you, then, that I had the forethought to bring along a gift.”

The spider’s many eyes glittered in the dim moonlight, eagerly observing the way Sebastian’s pupils dilated involuntarily. Now wearing his butler skin, Faustus perched on the edge of the bed and licked his lips teasingly. A shining, delectable fragrance threaded its way into the air, calling softly to them; a tender little morsel, it dangled dangerously over the bottomless black pit that was Faustus’ filthy maw, denied escape at one end and oblivion at the other.

The temptation offended Sebastian to his core. Forcing his hungry gaze away, he leaned back and allowed his arm to once more rest completely over his eyes. The other demon frowned.

“Now you are simply being difficult,” Faustus chastised, “and after I came all this way. Think of it as an apology for my attempts at stealing your meal, if you must.”

Every breath was torture. The soul did not compare to his young master, nowhere close, but Sebastian couldn’t help inhaling deeply and he hated them all for it. The scent of betrayal lingered heavily on his tongue, overpowering the stench of decay and sweet, delicious _life_.

“Open... the wardrobe...”

His strained voice was little more than a whisper. Faustus stared.

“What?”

Sebastian summoned the scattered threads of his remaining strength and lifted one finger to point towards the doors of the plain wardrobe near the bed.

Baffled, the other demon silently obeyed. Faustus then observed in quiet fury as a dozen cats varying in size, breed, and age poured into the room seemingly from oblivion—making a beeline for the bed.

“You—you cannot just _ignore_ the problem, Michaelis...”

The cats had piled atop Sebastian in a mountain of purring warmth, each setting about its own business with utter contentment. One had already fallen deeply asleep on his face, and another scratched at the blanket with gusto. A kitten chewed happily on a lock of his hair, and Claude was astonished that Sebastian tolerated it. In fact, the demon seemed to have completely forgotten about his injuries and uninvited guest—though both knew this to be a lie.

A single, white strand of cat fur floated through the air and landed on Faustus’s glasses. He gazed upon it incredulously.

“No. Enough.” Sebastian was now ignoring Faustus, and that simply would not do. Setting his glasses on the dresser, Faustus began swiftly to lift cats off Sebastian and placed them back inside the wardrobe, firmly ignoring the injured demon’s burning gaze. Damned fool and his damn feline fixation.

“You will take this soul willingly,” he growled, shutting the wardrobe with a decisive snap, “or I will shove it _down your throat_.”

Faustus perched over him, one knee between Sebastian’s legs, and pinned his wrists to the pillow after long fingers attempted to pluck out Faustus’s golden eyes. Sebastian glared with dark fury. Why was Faustus so determined to see him fed? There was certainly no lost love between them, and really, if the other demon sought pleasure he needn’t have gone through the extra effort to acquire a soul, for Sebastian wasn’t in any real state to refuse without deliberately endangering Ciel. Was it a manipulation then? Faustus had already admitted to having some idea, at least, of Sebastian’s devotion to the boy and their contract. Perhaps he wished to see Sebastian suffer, to observe firsthand the anguish such a betrayal would cause him. A thousand possibilities raced through his sharp mind, but Sebastian was unable to come to a satisfactory conclusion. The pain was much too great, and the pressure above his legs far too distracting.

The indignity of his position grated at his patience.

“ _I do n_ _ot need your charity,_ ” he snarled, and the inhumanity behind his words startled both of them. Claude, the vermin, appeared to shudder with delight, and Sebastian would have launched the demon back through the window if he’d only possessed the strength.

“Call it what you will. If struggling appeases your pride I will not object—but this will only end one way.”

Faustus sought Sebastian’s lips but instead found his jaw when the demon turned his head away. Sebastian’s chest was heaving painfully. The soul filled the air with its sweet, torturous call, a fraction louder than Ciel’s and only due to its proximity. The sweet puffs of Faustus’ breath against his neck overwhelmed his senses and left him dazed.

“Michaelis...” Faustus sighed against Sebastian’s skin, teeth teasing the place beneath his ear. “You are utterly useless to the boy like this, as you know full well.”

Indeed, and it was absolutely ridiculous. Sebastian had never, _ever_ needed to snack while a contract was in effect. The thought of cheating so was outrageous. While Ciel attracted trouble—intentionally or otherwise and with incredible ease—he knew it was no excuse for his failure. Sebastian had grown complacent.

It had been so very long since he’d last fed, even before Ciel had entered the picture. Hunger was the best sauce, as the saying went, but Sebastian had toed the line between hunger and famine too closely and for too long, and now he was paying the price. The raw, gnawing ache had been fanned into an inferno with his latest injuries, and it had turned Sebastian into a liability. If Ciel called now then Sebastian would be forced to come crawling. He did not trust himself to pursue the alternative in this state; it was so very easy to shed his butler facade, but the true difficulty lay in putting all back together again. Like an ill-fitting corset laced too tight for comfort, his mortal form was a hindrance, and the temptation to remove it and revel in the wild, monstrous freedom of his true nature was a persistent, burning desire. He could not allow himself to attempt it. This, regrettably, left only one option. _Cheating._

How humiliating.

Faustus moved closer to the demon below him, a hairsbreadth from pressing down on the Death Scythe wound. He sucked and nibbled his way towards Sebastian’s jaw, relishing in the smell of blood and decay that clung to his skin, then shifted to trace his closed lips with a long tongue. The taste of Sebastian’s anguish and self-disgust visibly thrilled him.

“Let me in,” Faustus murmured, nibbling none too gently at the butler’s pale lips. Sebastian’s eyelids lowered, burning magenta slits gazing with hellish fury into Faustus’ own.

The effort necessary to ward off the other demon’s advances took more out of Sebastian than he decided he was willing to bear. If Faustus was truly determined to carry through with this uncharacteristic act of generosity—and Sebastian doubted the existence of good intentions behind it—then he’d prefer to maintain some sort of dignity in deciding to surrender, rather than the choice being taken from him.

Unhappily, Sebastian yielded to the intrusion. It was a mockery of what an observer might have described to be a slow, passionate kiss—though the intent was anything but romantic. Their tongues danced together with practiced grace, unhurried for Sebastian’s strength waned and the prey really had nowhere to flee. There was a smug satisfaction in the way Faustus leisurely twined his fingers through Sebastian’s wet hair and gripped it in a vice, angling the kiss to better suit him.

The soul—now trapped between not one but two dark, hungering abysses—writhed uneasily near the back of Faustus’ throat. Sebastian exhaled softly and gave it a long, loving _lick._ It struggled fruitlessly, scream mingling sweetly with Faustus’ moan.

Faustus’ taste in souls was truly regrettable... if taste was a factor at all. Sebastian wondered if the shoddy quality was meant to be more of a roundabout way of punishing him rather than an expression of poor palate. Irritably, he bit at the end of Faustus’ tongue and the other demon tightened his grip in retaliation, causing Sebastian’s neck to crane painfully. Faustus chuckled and pulled away to instead suckle dark bruises onto the skin beneath Sebastian’s jaw, lips quirking at the rumble of frustration he could feel beneath him.

“The time for fussiness has passed, Michaelis… That luxury is one you can no longer afford.”

Ciel murmured in discontent, a nightmare worming its way into the child’s dreams; Sebastian heard the sound as if through a fog. The unhealing wound slowly grew with each passing moment as it ate away at far more than his flesh, and the weight of Faustus pressing Sebastian deeper into the bed sent him gasping for breath. Long fingers plucked at the torn fastenings of his shirt and skittered across his skin, waltzing across the edge of the wound and pulling reedy notes from him as he was played like an out-of-tune violin.

Every delicious gulp of air only worsened his haze. His senses were filled with the scent of a soul slowly growing sour the longer it remained trapped in its dark, vile prison. Ciel’s distant presence overpowered the other soul with helpless ease and the demon hungered, itching fiercely under his skin as he writhed beneath Faustus’ ministrations. It would be _so easy_ to let go, to take, to _devour every last morsel of life_ in that forsaken house and leave nothing behind, not a scrap, not a shred, _not a single mouth-watering_ _crumb_ …

His master’s distressed whimper caused the contract mark to burn sharply, snapping him back to awareness. Faustus was frozen, sharp teeth pressed against Sebastian’s collarbone mid-bite. For all his talk of control, he clearly hadn’t realized just how little Sebastian truly had left. The butler facade would not be the only thing torn to ribbons if its wearer could not reign himself in.

Taking a moment to gather the frayed ends of his strength, Sebastian reflected upon the absurdity of the situation. Starvation and injury both raced each other to see which could break him first, yet his enemy wanted nothing more than to fuck him into the thin mattress. Unbelievable, and so very like Faustus.

The spider was an opportunistic hunter, accustomed to gorging himself on human souls of wildly varying quality, existing in a perpetual state of near-satisfaction. He clearly took his primary enjoyment from the physical aspect of feeding if his incessant attempts at foreplay were anything to go by. But the body was only decoration—the platter upon which every consumed soul is served, and Sebastian was not generally in the business of bedding his tableware. Unless they asked nicely, of course.

This was a different dynamic altogether. A new game that the spider obviously hadn’t cared to play much before if his lack of regard for the rules was any indication. He toyed with Sebastian like he would have done with any other meal—perhaps more gently, oddly enough, though that might have been fear of pushing the injured demon too far—never mind that Sebastian was obviously not on the menu and Faustus was meant to be serving _him_ that night.

Faustus would be content with the equivalent of street food if it were served up to him on a pretty plate, and all the better if he could snatch it from someone else first. He only took, coveted, and claimed, and Sebastian understood the behavior even as he scorned it. He’d been that way, once, ripping into every soul in his path like a ravenous hound gone mad from hunger.

No longer.

It was so easy to take and devour without care, an exercise that was ultimately futile—he would never be sated, not with a million million souls just like Ciel’s. But the waiting and the obedience and the danger all for the promise of an exquisite reward freely offered… it was a distraction, a game which Sebastian enjoyed immensely.

The greatest gift a soul could give was that of itself. The ultimate sacrifice, and ironically for such petty, short-lived reasons. But Sebastian humored them; he took pride in preparing and consuming stunning meals of the highest quality, the kind that he would never forget and forever remember fondly. What sort of demon would he be if he could not at least grant them that much courtesy?

His master was wracked with a coughing fit and Sebastian felt a pang that had nothing to do with his injury.

Ciel Phantomhive was extraordinary, even for Sebastian’s usual fare, and it felt cheap to betray him for a soul that Sebastian was certain Faustus plucked randomly off the streets. Although he doubted Ciel would actually care. His young lord was pragmatic, above all else. Starvation lent its own unique spice to a meal, but it would be a waste of both of their efforts if the meal never made it to the dinner table.

Food was strongly on his mind that night, more so than usual, and it was honestly embarrassing. He was in no state to play Faustus’ game. Sebastian appreciated carnal pleasure, of course he did, but he was hungry, tired, and in a great deal of pain. If Faustus truly meant to honor his offer then he could very well get on with it, for kisses would not be doing Sebastian’s wound any favors.

Speaking wasn’t any easier than it had been earlier, but desperation could be its own source of strength. It ultimately proved to be unnecessary, however, as Faustus seemed to finally understand. Before Sebastian could breathe a word his lips were claimed in a kiss much more passive and chaste than the one before, a blank slate he could direct to his own preference. Sebastian was frankly surprised that Faustus was willing to exercise actual manners, however aggravated he might be over his fun being cut short. But the spider was overdue for a lesson in patience, and as Sebastian so often reminded Ciel: dessert was best enjoyed _after_ dinner.

Sebastian smiled.

The soul was fading, its brilliant light slowly dimming, flickering, like a candle flame that was trapped between two unforgiving fingers and seconds from being snuffed out. Sebastian ran his tongue lightly against Faustus’ lower lip, politely requesting entrance, and the soul cowered deep in Faustus’ throat, instinctively shrinking back from the darkness it could sense approaching. The soul had, in a tragic sort of way, grown accustomed to its murky, revolting trap; the hollow, hungering void encroaching upon it was so much larger and colder than its current prison, and this struck fear into the soul at its most basic level. He wondered, with some amusement, if it would try to flee—cornered as it was—and take its chances with Faustus. Sebastian purred, licking his way into the other demon’s mouth as he slowly, tortuously drew the soul away from the edge and inhaled its musical cries.

Faustus was not handling it much better. The hand pinning Sebastian’s wrists trembled, pulse jumping noticeably against his skin, and the fingers of his other hand twisted into the blankets like a vice as he struggled not to clutch Sebastian and pull him closer—or shove him away. For one such as Faustus who was accustomed to wanton, gluttonous feasting, to claiming and consuming and never relinquishing control, willingly allowing Sebastian to take the soul from him must have been an unforeseen torture.

The pressure in the bedroom changed, shifted, growing heavier than the deepest fissure of the ocean and colder than the emptiest reaches of space. Moon shafts vanished under the blanket of darkness that ate away the air as Sebastian caressed his meal; flickering tendrils of shadow devoid of warmth, of light, of anything at all lapped gently at the soul, teasing, savoring. Faustus shuddered above him, unable to draw breath, unable to break away as the soul screamed.

Each dark kiss from the edges of the hungering abyss struck agony through the soul unlike any other, just as Sebastian was struck with the bitter, spicy tang of memories. The cry of a babe ripped from its mother’s stiff arms— _lick_ —a heel stomping on muddied ground, crushing worms underfoot— _kiss_ —blood dripping from a knife, shining under the dim light of a gas lamp— _sigh—_ rough hands squeezing in a vice and bruises blooming on the pale flesh beneath— _nibble_ —the heavy weight of irons around large wrists and a freezing breeze entering through a barred window— _suck_ —cold, cruel lips and clever, skittering fingers claiming, consuming, as the air disappeared and the lights flickered out, the pain and terror of being ripped apart, torn away and bundled up in a rotting pit of filth and vile decay, waiting, waiting—

There were emotions too, sprinkled and dashed across the memories as seasonings to supper. Fury, despair, wanton lust, wicked greed, sadistic cruelty, happiness, boredom, regret, spite, murderous rage... Sebastian drank them all up, rolling them across his tongue, relishing in each individual taste. He peeled apart the layers, uncovering every flavor of the soul’s life, every facet of its personality, its name and wishes and fears and dreams and _o_ _h…_ the wicked spider had truly picked the lowest of humanity to present as his gift. Sebastian would take extreme care with this one, a shadow of the punishment he wished to exact upon Faustus for daring to disguise the scent of such distasteful fare.

The soul was not the only thing writhing atop him now and Faustus’ breathless, conflicted pleasure served as a counterpoint to Sebastian’s steady, purposeful movements; he dissected the soul with utmost precision despite the roaring, desperate _need_ begging him to consume it immediately, to inhale it in one bite and appease the hunger that ripped savagely at his core. But that was not the demon’s way and he took his time in caressing, teasing, and nipping away at his meal with utmost reverence, drawing it ever closer to the looming abyss that promised its end. The soul screeched and fought, digging in its metaphorical heels to stave off the inevitable, cowering and pulling back from the eagerly approaching darkness and the crooning horror within, inky talons reaching, grasping, dragging the flickering light through the black, hungering maw and into the bowels below...

After what felt to be both a mere moment and an eternity, the world snapped back into place with a wet, sickening pop. Pressure released as light and color and air returned to rights, and Faustus broke their kiss to draw breath. He was interrupted in the next moment by Sebastian’s fingers wrapping around his throat, black fingernails digging into his skin.

“You might have warned me beforehand,” Sebastian began pleasantly, eyes blazing with aggravation, “that I would be devouring _garbage_.”

Claude, after the briefest moment of surprise, smirked devilishly. “Do you not see, Michaelis? I have done you two favors—your strength is returned and now young Phantomhive will taste all the more exquisite with this delightful memory lingering on the back of your tongue.”

Sebastian was wholly unimpressed.

“I’ve half a mind to be rid of you now,” he threatened quietly, because really _,_ did Faustus expect him to be filled with gratitude? The demon had dangled his bait, the tiny, barely-edible fruit he’d found swimming in the gutter, and it had done as much for Sebastian as rat bones for a starving man. The pit of his stomach rolled with barely-sated hunger and fierce guilt but there was finally something to draw from and Sebastian no longer teetered on the edge. His strength, however short-lived, was returning and his body fought to mend itself in a sluggish race against the Death Scythe’s lingering power. The faintest blush of color had returned to his sallow cheeks, and Faustus—still locked in a gradually weakening stranglehold—lowered his head to coax the pink back into Sebastian’s frowning lips with deceptively innocent kisses.

“Could you?” Faustus wondered aloud, taunting, his golden eyes glittering with amusement.

Sebastian found himself once more pressed deep into the bed, pinned beneath Faustus’ body, and he closed his eyes with a quiet groan. No, he realized, he couldn’t, and the infernal spider _had_ done this to humiliate him. He had waited for the right moment to pounce when Sebastian would be weak and injured—an inevitable occurrence, for Ciel Phantomhive courted danger with wanton abandon—biding his time until Sebastian landed in his web, and he had brought a soul along to ensure his prey would be strong enough to participate but too weak to fight back.

Well, perhaps he was giving Faustus too much credit. He couldn’t have known what had happened on the _Campania_ , nor when, unless he’d been watching from afar—and Sebastian found it difficult to believe the demon was _that_ desperate.

“Bitterness does not become you, Michaelis,” he chided, and Sebastian nipped sharply at his upper lip.

“False integrity does not suit you either, Faustus. How gracious of you, to offer your crumbs... did you really expect a reward?”

“A kind gesture is not invalidated by wicked motives,” the spider demon argued, swallowing Sebastian’s noise of disagreement with a deeper kiss. He laced his fingers once more through Sebastian’s damp hair in a loose grip while the other hand moved to unbutton the rest of his shirt, fingers gingerly peeling the blood-soaked fabric away from the seething demon’s skin.

Sebastian gave him a piercing stare, eyes flashing with guarded suspicion as he broke away. “You never take such care with your other trysts.” It wasn’t a question—Sebastian understood Claude Faustus’ character well enough to know that any pretense of gentleness was purely an act of seduction, one that the spider viciously abandoned as soon as he had a firm hold of his prey. That he did not behave the same way with Sebastian was... disconcerting. Faustus made an exasperated sound.

“Michaelis.” He sighed, and his breath misted in the cold air. “Tonight we are not enemies.”

It was not an acceptable response, and Sebastian’s fingers tightened around Faustus’ neck in irritation. He was wasting the little strength the soul had given him and the knowledge grated on his nerves. It wasn’t that Sebastian wanted to stop because he disliked the idea of playing with Faustus, not at all, but rather on the principle that he’d been manipulated into it. Sebastian _was_ grateful, though he’d never admit it aloud now that he understood his enemy’s true motives, and he was torn between attempting to end this farce immediately and risk wasting his little pick-me-up, or submitting to Faustus and conserving his strength.

Ultimately, it came down to a choice between Sebastian’s pride or Ciel’s safety, as many things did, and in those terms he no longer needed to debate the answer.

The next attempt to continue their game was met with little protest. They kissed slowly, deeply, devouring each other in an entirely different manner than before. Faustus pushed Sebastian’s torn vest and shirt aside to bare his shoulders as the fingers around the spider’s neck released and lowered to find the fastenings of his pristine tailcoat, black nails leaving faint pink scratches in their wake.

They shared a sigh, and Sebastian could sense Faustus’ desperation to go faster, feel it in the restless twitch of his muscles beneath his warm skin. Sebastian did not oblige. This was the most practical punishment for him to inflict upon the spider given the circumstances, and he was determined to make it positively _torturous_. His tongue danced lazily with the other demon’s, teasing him, practiced and assured, and the delighted groan he coaxed from Faustus’ throat was tinged with frustration.

Kissing was as natural to the demons as breathing was for mortals, an act of feeding and of pleasure, as ancient as it was versatile, and Sebastian was confident in his skill. He curled his tongue sinfully and drank up every sound with relish. Their hips moved slowly as Sebastian’s hands set the pace, slipping beneath Faustus’ untucked shirt and burning against his lower back, pressing them closer together as the world around them spun.

Faustus seemed to surrender to Sebastian’s lead above even as wicked fingers traveled lower to begin another battle, tracing teasingly along the edge of Sebastian’s trousers before unfastening them and dipping inside. His deft touches set Sebastian to squirming, and then Faustus was the one swallowing his moans.

The spider dared to quest further and Sebastian’s sharp nails raked at his back, warning, even as a delicious roll of Faustus’ hips and a quirk of his fingers sent the world ablaze, but the heat was nothing against the fire blooming from Sebastian’s wound. Sharp fangs bit and lips suckled on the beads of blood rising from Faustus’ kiss-swollen lower lip, and the hand in Sebastian’s hair pulled his head back as their tongues plunged deeper, dancing together with devilish delight.

They writhed, and Sebastian’s senses were alight with the burning pain of his injury, the nimble fingers that played him like an instrument and the ever-present _hunger_ that crawled beneath his skin and crowed with each breath of Ciel’s distant, magnificent soul.

Faustus had broken the kiss to lap trails of fire down Sebastian’s neck while a branded, black-nailed hand slid down the spider’s back and disappeared under the waist of his trousers. The sweet sounds Sebastian wrought from him would have set the most lecherous of mortals to blushing and Sebastian laughed, he laughed and laughed and abandoned the rules of the game and tore Faustus’ clothing apart with sharp nails as the spider bit at his neck and defiled his core, and Sebastian's promise to go slow had been forgotten but the demon did not care. They kissed again and it was ravenous, unholy, _repulsive_ , and they devoured each other with such fiendish voracity that it was pure torment because there was nothing in the dark except their vast, aching hunger.

This game was one the demons could have played forever, long after their mortal bodies had withered away and the world around them turned to dust, but Sebastian’s hands were slowing and his breaths hitching and their skin was smeared with far too much blood. The darkness retreated and their kiss relaxed, the heat between Sebastian’s legs settling to a low burn. They moved languidly and Sebastian arched against Faustus and his clever, clever fingers as their hips met and rolled and withdrew, again and again and the agony was utterly delightful.

They lingered in a tangled embrace long after they had finished. Sebastian felt the wound bleed as it healed, mending at a pace that slowed the longer it continued. Returning to his duties come morning would be difficult, but no longer the near-impossibility it had been before. Sebastian still did not quite understand why Faustus had wanted to play this game, nor why he’d allowed Sebastian to twist the rules. But when Faustus finally pulled away and crawled peacefully back to his corner of the ceiling to continue weaving his perfect silver web, Sebastian decided that perhaps, just this once, the answers could wait a little while longer.


End file.
